


Independent Together

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a Life Together: The Courtship of Marian Paroo [11]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: At the footbridge, Clandestine canoodling, Country Matters, Courtship is the best ship, Defrosting Ice Queen, Edwardian era, F/M, Fluff with depth, Outdoor Mischief, Passion vs Propriety, Strolling together, Trading Innuendos, Unpacking emotional baggage, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wooing on the Paroo front porch, sweet & low
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: Marian has always craved love, family, and acceptance. But now that she has found these things in Harold, she realizes it isn't as easy as she expected to relinquish her freedom.
Relationships: Harold Hill/Marian Paroo
Series: Building a Life Together: The Courtship of Marian Paroo [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/26553
Kudos: 3





	Independent Together

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing research into Marian Paroo’s surname and, to my surprise, I learned that it is actually Hindi in origin! That got me thinking – the only way a white European-descended woman could have plausibly had this last name in Iowa in 1912 is if she had Romani ancestors who relocated to Europe from India in the mass migrations that took place several thousand years ago. And in order to be historically accurate in the language used at the time, Marian would have described her ancestry as “gypsy,” which is now considered politically incorrect unless one is Romani and chooses to use that term for themselves. As such, I acknowledge this values dissonance and explain the inclusion of this term in the otherwise forward-thinking story that follows.

_Nothing is holding me back now_  
_No one can push me around_  
_What do I want to be_  
_I’m the master of me_  
_And isn’t the thought enough to lift me off of the ground_  
_We could be independent together_  
_Independent together, we can fly_  
_Independent together, you and I_  
_~Pearl and Steg, Steven Universe: The Movie  
_

XXX

_October 1912_

Marian Paroo used to fear she’d die a spinster. Nowadays, she was far more afraid of how much personal sacrifice that love might demand from her.

It wasn’t that the librarian wanted to go back to her previous dismal existence. Far from it – being loved and courted by Harold Hill was every bit as lovely and wonderful and glorious as she hadn’t dared to hope it would be until the night he confessed that he loved her in return. She had always dreamed of a white knight riding into town and rescuing her from the dreariness of prosaic small-town life, and the music professor had been the answer to these secret prayers.

But as Marian contemplated actually being married to Harold – he was sure to propose to her any day now, and she had no doubt of this eventuality since the long afternoon he spent talking to her of his past as they sat together on the hollow log at the footbridge – the reality of tying her life so irrevocably to a man gave her chills, and not always the pleasant kind. In River City alone she had observed too many women languishing in dreadful marriages to men who disrespected and even degraded them. It was even worse to imagine that these couples must have loved each other once upon a time – surely, they wouldn’t have married otherwise? – and she dreaded the idea that, once the novelty of connubial bliss wore off, she and Harold would grow to harbor similar contempt for one another. And even if they managed to preserve the felicity of their union and enjoy a marriage as long and happy as Mama’s and Papa’s had been, Marian knew all too well that she could still find herself at a perilous imbalance if Harold predeceased her, as he was likely to do (she refused to do him the discourtesy of fearing abandonment, though it did make her insides twist unpleasantly to wonder if he would indeed succumb to ennui with River City in general at some distant point in the future). The success of his livelihood depended almost wholly on his uncanny ability to sell and, once he was no longer able to work, the returns on his flourishing business would greatly diminish.

In addition, if Marian was to bear more than two or three children over the course of their marriage, which was certainly a distinct possibility given the passion that undeniably smoldered between the two of them, she would most likely have to give up her position at the library, and with it her financial independence. Her happiness and zest for life were already inextricably bound to Harold’s decision to remain in River City, which was disconcerting enough to admit, even in the privacy of her own mind. But the prospect of being so wholly dependent on another human being for economic survival was frightening, even as much as she loved, trusted, and believed in the rare gem of a man who was trying so desperately hard to live up to being the bandleader, mentor, and pillar of the community known as Harold Hill. Marian still remembered with wistful fondness the grand house the Paroo family had been so fortunate to inhabit in Cincinnati, and how difficult it had been not just for her, but also for Mama and Winthrop to adjust to their greatly reduced financial circumstances once Papa took ill and passed away. And so she most emphatically did not wish to inflict this same misfortune on her children someday.

As Marian pondered the looming change to her station, she realized, to her surprise and chagrin, that she had gotten rather used to making her way in the world as an independent woman, even after that world was no longer so offended by her presence. Though the Irish were not known for being meek or reticent in temperament, Mama insisted that the librarian had inherited her headstrong “Iowa stubborn” spirit from her father’s side of the family. And perhaps there was more truth to Mrs. Paroo’s opinion than she knew. The librarian had discovered that the Paroo surname was not European but Hindi in origin – she surmised her ancestors were gypsies who had migrated to Europe from India several thousand years ago and subsequently intermarried with the locals, while somehow managing to continue propagating this exotic surname down to their offspring throughout the many centuries that followed. Although this was not an ancestral genealogy she felt comfortable publicly advertising, as even in this modern era gypsies were still disdained and persecuted, Marian felt a certain pride in possessing such an unusual family origin. Gypsies were traditionally outsiders, and as such she felt a spiritual kinship with her distant ancestors that she took great solace in. The idea of having such tenacious and enduring forefathers helped her bear the prejudice against her as she weathered the challenges of being a town pariah.

Still, although the physical and emotional solitude of spinsterhood was exceedingly lonely, there was a certain freedom in it that the librarian had not only gotten used to, but even enjoyed to a certain degree. So she could not only understand but also sympathize with Harold’s wanderlust and his fear of being unwittingly trapped in a prison from which he could never escape. The only difference between the two of them in this matter was that she had traveled to other worlds through books rather than on trains. And now that she was about to relinquish this freedom for good, she found herself strangely mourning the loss of it – even as Harold’s ardent looks, tender confessions, and impassioned caresses melted the uncertainty in her heart and reduced her to inarticulate puddles of joy as she gleefully anticipated the wonderful future in store for them both.

XXX

_November 1912_

As ecstatic as she was at the prospect of being Mrs. Harold Hill, these uncertainties nevertheless continued to linger, even after Marian was officially engaged to the music professor and she had successfully disclosed a great deal of her own uncomfortable past to him. So one crisp fall morning a week before their wedding, the librarian screwed up her courage and prepared herself for an important conversation. When Harold merrily bounded onto her front porch and rang the doorbell at ten o’clock sharp, she asked him to stroll with her to the footbridge, nervously toying with the diamond solitaire on her ring finger as she did so.

To her chagrin, the music professor looked more alarmed than intrigued by her invitation. Realizing how ominous a picture she must have presented, she promptly dropped her fidgeting hands to her sides and rushed to reassure him: “I’m not planning to break our engagement or anything so horrible as that.” Glancing at the front gate to make sure there was no gossip-greedy passerby in earshot, she whispered, “I just need to talk with you – in private.”

Harold gave her a crooked smile. “I didn’t suppose you’d be so heartless as to dump a fella _there_ ,” he teased, though it was evident from the relief in his eyes that the possibility had indeed crossed his mind.

Marian took his hand in hers and gave it an apologetic squeeze. “You’ve been so forthcoming with me about your own difficulties, I wish to extend the same courtesy to you in return.”

He immediately looked concerned. “Is something troubling you, darling?”

“Just a few trifles that I’m certain I’ll feel much better about after I share them with you,” she said nonchalantly, not wanting to be drawn into any substantial conversation before they were truly alone together. To her relief, Harold simply gave her an understanding look and whisked her into a brisk constitutional.

Their walk to the footbridge was swift and silent. Fortunately, their determined gait belied their true destination – the pair looked as if they were on their way to the emporium to solve a pressing business matter rather than on a leisurely lover’s errand to canoodle – and as such they were not prevailed upon to chat by anyone they passed on the way to the privacy they sought.

This rapid momentum persisted even when they were finally alone together, for once she had made up her mind to do something, Marian was never a woman to delay in carrying out her decided course of action. So as soon as they were seated comfortably next to each other on the hollow log, the librarian told her fiancé everything that had been weighing on her mind of late: the unexpected difficulty of relinquishing the lonely freedom of spinsterhood, the Paroo family’s gypsy origin and how it bore her up in her lowest moments, and her fears of being left a penniless widow someday just as her mother had been.

When Marian finally fell silent and looked into her husband-to-be’s eyes, she was heartened to see that he was still looking at her with the tender affection and understanding that always made her feel both seen and heard, not just as a woman but as a person in her own dignity and right.

“I can certainly appreciate your concerns, Madam Librarian,” Harold said solemnly, caressing her hands as he held them in his. “I can’t deny that I’ve had the exact same suspicion that you’re likely to outlive me – and by a good decade or two! But I am determined not to leave you a penniless widow.” The resolve in his gaze intensified as he stared into her eyes, giving her a pleasant shiver that thrilled her from head to toe. “And so I not only pledge to take care of you to the best of my ability, I will personally see to it that you will always be able to take care of yourself. Which is why that, even as your husband, I will insist to any person who objects that you remain River City’s librarian for as long as it pleases you to be.”

“Oh, Harold!” she cried happily, and threw her arms around him. Really, his response could not have been more perfect! While she did not relish the prospect of passing away at the front desk as her predecessor, Miss Brundage, had done, it was a joy and a relief to know that for her, there would be no conflict between financial security and love.

When they separated after a long and lovely interval of _not_ talking, Marian was delighted to see the flirtatious gleam in Harold’s eye. “You know, Miss _Paroo_ , your gypsy ancestry certainly explains a great deal that had puzzled me about you back when we first met.”

Flattered by his regard for an ancestry most people would have looked askance at, she arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that so, _Mister_ Hill?”

He grinned impishly at her. “You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met – but something about your beauty is far more striking than the usual plain-spun wholesomeness found in other Midwestern pretties. I’ve come across gypsy gals a time or two during my travels, and the younger females tend to be quite stunning, not just in looks, but in the way they hold their heads high and carry themselves with pride. You have that wonderful pride in spades, my dear little librarian. And I have to agree with your mother – your gypsy ancestry surely gave you that charming independent streak I admire so much about you.” He looked intently at her. “I hope you understand that I would be just as unsatisfied as you, if you subsumed the entire strength of your personality and talents into being Mrs. Harold Hill alone.”

Marian nodded vehemently. She had hoped this was the case before, but now she knew it without a doubt, and this was exactly the reassurance she needed, even as she so desperately craved the love, family, and social acceptance that being Mrs. Harold Hill would give her.

Satisfied by the accord they had reached, Harold relaxed and gave her the full measure of his incandescent grin, which made her weak in the knees. It was a good thing they were presently seated, especially as he lost no time in pulling her close for a deep and ardent kiss that left her breathless. “You and I are of the same kind, my dear little librarian,” he said when their mouths finally parted. “We are both wanderers – you in pedigree, me in spirit.” He kissed her again, this time softly and sweetly. “And for the rest of my life, I want to wander together with _you_ , Marian Rose Paroo.”

Marian beamed the full measure of her joy and desire at him, delighting the way he melted so defenselessly beneath her heated gaze the same way she came undone beneath his. Truly, they were equals and would remain so, even after he slid a wedding band onto her finger and she took his surname as hers. “Harold Gregory Hill – I can’t wait to be your wife,” she wholeheartedly agreed, and leaned in to kiss him just as confidently and eagerly as he ever embraced her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see what Marian's former Cincinnati home looks like (and also learn more about the charming Victorian she and Harold subsequently inhabit), you can check it out [here](https://sarita29.livejournal.com/100106.html).


End file.
